Around The Campfire
by NonaRose
Summary: One-shots that don't belong to specific verses written for SpookyOQ. Ratings may vary!
1. Bats

**Day Three, Wednesday.**

 **Prompt Three — Bats**

* * *

A sensible person would know better than to go near a wild animal—especially bats. Those little creatures carried fatal diseases, not even the greatest healers across the kingdom could cure the unfortunate ones that crossed their paths. And what did Robin Locksley do? Pick up an injured bat with his bare hands and bring it to the small hut he called home, right in the middle of nowhere, where he could very well catch whatever sickness thousands before him died from and rot away for months before anyone would discover his decomposing corpse.

But he couldn't simply leave it there. It was inhumane. Just leave it for the dead while he was capable of nursing it back to health.

And it looked at him, intently. Watched his every move with wide and curious eyes, which were far too adorable to turn away from.

He _couldn't_ just leave it there with its broken wing.

"I'm afraid this is all I've got," Robin said, speaking to the animal as if it would understand a word coming out of his mouth. Stupid, really. For God's sake, what's gotten into him? He wasn't Mother Nature, he couldn't speak whatever language bats spoke—if they spoke any. Surely they did, they had to communicate with one another somehow. "What do you even eat?" he murmured, carefully moving one piece of the grapes he stole earlier toward the creature, watching as it looked back and forth between him and fruit, blinking a couple of times before sinking its tiny fangs into it and began munching away.

That was cute. That was _really_ cute.

"Hard to think your kind slaughtered so many people."

* * *

He couldn't name it. He _shouldn't_ name it. It was feral, something dozens feared, and rightfully so, it could be packed with unknown illnesses that might kill him. It wasn't a pet.

But he did.

Duncan. And boy, did Duncan love his expensive, hard-to-come-by grapes. He'd quietly stare at Robin with those big, brown eyes every time he was done with one, patiently waiting for another. How could something so small devour five grapes in one sitting and in under ten minutes?

Infact, Duncan had quite the appetite. He loved so many other things Robin never knew bats could even eat—stale bread softened in some water seemed to be the dark creature's second favorite thing to nibble on, and it was absolutely the most adorable sight seeing him struggle with pieces of tough meat.

And while it was all too wonderful having Duncan around, his wing healed, which, much to Robin's dismay, meant he'd have to set him free soon. Back into the wild, right where he belonged.

"You're getting a special treat tonight." Robin grinned, unfolding his hand in front of the bat to reveal the grapes he bargained for earlier from the market, prompting a loud squeak out of the small monster that made him chuckle. "I know, I know. It's your favorite, isn't it?"

The confirmation he sought came when Duncan went right in, shoving almost half a grape into his mouth and munched away.

"Careful," Robin mumbled under his breath, using the tip of his index to lightly pet him. "It was nice having you around—a good change." It was ridiculous how the week just flew by since he found Duncan on the way home, and it was sad that the loneliness he felt for the majority of his life was subsided by the presence of a bat. Sadder, that he was actually talking to the said bat. What sane person would do that? "You better visit."

Who was he kidding, though? He'd never seen Duncan again in his life. He was a bat, not a dog with a great memory that might just return for a _hello_ sometime in the future.

* * *

It was late. Extremely late, where the only sounds that echoed through the night were the hooting of the owls and the chirping of the crickets, and the deep howls of wolves from afar. And it was dark—had it not been for the faint moonbeam streaming through the small hut's window, providing a dim illumination, Robin would've never seen Duncan.

Duncan, the one and only Duncan who he enjoyed having around.

The little monster with a huge personality that absolutely loved the stolen grapes and sleeping on the pillow next to him.

Duncan, who squeaked out of excitement like a little child would.

Duncan…who was changing right before his eyes.

It all happened too quickly, but at the same time, it was as if the moment was frozen. Robin watched as a swirl of purple smoke enveloped the creature, then disappeared, leaving behind a person. An actual person that _definitely_ was not a Duncan, judging by the silhouette of defined curves he could make up in the darkness.

A petite woman that stood with her back turned toward him, her long, dark hair cascading in messy curls over her back, and not a single garment covered her sinful figure—he realized that when his eyes drifted south. Though, as captivating as her sight was, that didn't stop the shout from leaving him. What in God's name just happened?

It startled the woman, who turned around swiftly to face him, her eyes equally as wide as his as her arms flew over her body in an attempt to cover herself.

Her…

He'd seen her before, wandering around the market and lingering by the fruit stalls. He caught a glimpse of her, nothing more than the side of her face or certain angles from a distance that didn't give away much of her features. Her face was almost always hidden underneath the hood of the blood-red cloak she wore. But she was stunning, and that was enough for him to remember her by. Infact, he was doubtful he'd ever forget seeing her.

She was the witch living in the deepest, darkest part of the forest that everyone seemed to be afraid of?

He rustled to get out of bed when her voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Please don't."

* * *

It was all planned out. She'd leave while the rest of the world slept. While Robin, her caretaker for the past week, was snoring way on his worn-out bed, as he did for the prior seven nights she spent laying beside his head, and it would've worked out perfectly. He was a heavy sleeper, it seemed, and that would've given her the opportunity to slip out without alarming him. But he woke up. For whatever reason, he _had_ to wake up right then and there, and his timing couldn't have been any worse.

If it happened a minute earlier, she wouldn't have changed. If it happened a minute later, she would've been long gone. Just her luck, though, he woke up right in the middle of her transformation.

She worked so, so hard on keeping her identity a secret for all these years. Stayed hidden in her cabin out in the middle of nowhere to avoid being caught, and spent so little time among other people, only went into town for necessities every so often. Witches were despised. They were chased out of their homes, tied up to stakes and burned alive, hung or banished out of the kingdom. And now she'd face the same fate as her mother did because he knew.

And he was getting out of bed, surely to grab her, drag her to the nearest village and humiliate her before killing her—just as it was done to her mother when she was only five-years-old. When her entire life was turned upside down by angry villagers barging into their home and ripping her family apart, forcing her to flee the neighboring kingdom into another at the dead of night with her father. She should've been having the hearty supper her mother spent the evening cooking, and then tucked safely into her bed with a bedtime story and a goodnight kiss, as it happened every single night for as long as she could remember.

But that never happened again.

With her mother gone, her sickly father's condition only worsened. There was no magic to make him feel better and soothe him whenever things got rough, no matter how she tried, she couldn't do what her mother did. She didn't know how to.

He died before her tenth birthday, leaving her to tend to herself.

"Please don't." The words left her mouth before she could stop them, a pitiful plea to save her life.

"It's alright," he said, his voice reassuring as he held out one hand between them and processed to get up, and she coward away until her back pressed against the wall.

Nothing was alright. Nothing has been alright for a very long time.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he promised, and her eyes followed his every move, watched as he grabbed the blanket off his bed and held it toward her. "You'll get cold. It's quite a chilly night."

She was trembling, though she wasn't sure what to blame. The fact that she stood as naked as the day she was born in a cold weather, or fear.

His eyes were fixed over her face, a pair of blues reflecting sincerity, with a gentle smile to match. He nursed her to health, he wouldn't harm her, would he?

Reluctantly, she took one step forward and snatched the blanket, wrapping it around herself as he held both hands in front of him and moved back. "I won't tell a soul," he uttered, as though he read her mind and knew what scared her the most, "but I think I deserve an explanation. Let's start with something simple, break the ice, what do you say?" There he goes again, smiling, easing her worries, lowering her guards when they shouldn't be.

Trust no one, that's what her father always told her, that's what he repeated on his deathbed. Trust no one.

"What's your name?"

But there was something about him that made her trust him.

"Regina." Her lips curved into a small smile at the sight of his. "Most definitely not Duncan."


	2. Wildcard

**Written for SpookyOQ**

 **Day Seven, Sunday**

 **Prompt: Wildcard**

* * *

 **A/N:** The story is based off a rather famous urban legend we grew up hearing all about where I'm from, so I thought, why not write it down? The description is on point when it comes to what it's all about.

* * *

Urban legends and folklores never fazed Robin Locksley, even as a child. They were nothing more than stories. Scary stories shared between friends around a campfire, or stories parents used to scare their children into staying home after sundown, telling tales of ghouls and monsters that lurked in the darkness.

They were thrilling, he'd never deny that, and they intrigued him greatly but that was it—they were just stories that were created for that sole purpose, to amuse people.

So when his best friend, Killian Jones, told him about the story of the mysterious _witch_ that would appear in the middle of the night, roaming the streets, looking for her next victim, he laughed.

It was a laughable matter, really.

A stunning woman that captivated men with her beauty and sweet, musky perfume. Hypnotizing them and luring them to their death. But, what was beautiful about a woman with hair black as night and, supposedly, had hooves for feet, a sickle for a hand, and the eyes of a cat? If anything, she sounded like something a man would run the other direction upon seeing, not straight into her arms. He definitely wouldn't do the latter. But that's how the legend went. A gorgeous woman seducing lonely men on the streets at night and then killing them.

Never women, though, never children either. Just men.

Apparently, she'd been lured into her own death by one and that fueled her eternal hatred toward all men.

It was stupid and cliché of the sort, whoever came up with the tale could've at least worked a little harder on the details.

"I swear!" Killian promised. "She's real. I know a man who crossed paths with her once and got left with a scar above his brow."

Robin scoffed at the story and shook his head, clapping a hand over his friend's shoulder. "Maybe next time you ask me over you shouldn't drink that extra bottle of beer or two, especially after that rum you downed before I even arrived."

"It was half a bottle," Killian grumbled. "And you'll believe me when you end up dead somewhere."

"I'm afraid it'll be a little too late then," Robin joked, then laughed and stood up, grabbing his jacket and throwing it over his shoulder. "Anyways, I should get going."

"Careful," Killian warned, shooting him a smirk. "If you suddenly get a whiff of perfume, run."

Robin rolled his eyes and stepped out of the apartment with a chortle. As if.

* * *

The streets were finally clearing up. No more infuriating trick-or-treaters bumping into him on the way to knock on another door and grab yet another candy they didn't really need. But there were still people walking around, grownups dressed up in costumes, either making their way to a party or heading back home.

He didn't understand where the fun was in dressing up, or in Halloween in general. Wouldn't they rather stay home, have the candies all to themselves and watch a horror movie or two instead?

He sighed, shaking his head at the sight of a couple of people swaying in front of him and roaring with laughter, obviously intoxicated. Killian would've loved wherever they came from. Wherever booze was available, was a place his friend enjoyed being at.

Robin moved along the sidewalk, his hands stuffed into his pockets in an attempt to keep them warm in the late October's icy weather, or was it officially November already? Regardless, it baffled him just how many people he'd seen wearing very little clothes during the evening, barely covering anything, and there he was, cladded in jeans and a sweater, and a jacket atop of it and still shivered.

"Bloody hell—"

The rest of the sentence died at the tip of his tongue at the sight of a lone woman standing not far from where he was, looking rather lost as she glanced around with her brows furrowed.

"Miss?" he called out, and she turned around and looked at him, one hand lifting to point at herself, and he nodded. "Are you alright?"

"I'm…fine," she hesitated, smiling slightly, and that's when he smelled it. That sudden, strong gust of sweet fragrance even from a few feet away. It sent a shiver down his spine.

 _If you suddenly get a whiff of perfume, run…_

He shook the ridiculous thought out of his head and carefully approached her, only then noticing the heels in her hand. "Do you need any help?"

"Can you magically fix my twisted ankle?" she shot back with playfulness in her tone that made him chuckle.

"Unfortunately, I can't. But I can wave down a cab for you," he offered. If only he could find one, that is. It was far too late and he hadn't seen any pass by the street they were on.

"No, that's alright," she argued, gesturing ahead of her. "My house is not far from here."

Well, in that case. "Would you like a giant to lean on, you know, to help you get home faster?" He relented with his question, not wanting to come off as someone who was trying to get between her legs. He wasn't. That wasn't his intention at all. He genuinely wanted to help her get back without causing more harm to herself, and get back before the sun would rise. "It's completely up to you," he quickly reassured, holding his hands in front of him with a small smile. "I just know I wouldn't be at ease going home knowing you're still here struggling."

She was hesitant—he could tell by the way she avoided his gaze and pulled her lower lip between her teeth.

"No pressure," he soothed, promising, "I'm not a serial killer."

That made her laugh, and what a sweet sound that was. Captivating. "Alright, fine. But I'll have you know, I'm really, really good at jujutsu."

He grinned. "Oh, without a doubt." Though, he wasn't sure her injury would allow her to kick some ass, not when she could barely walk on her own. He looped an arm around her waist. "I've got you. Lean your weight on me."

* * *

He walked, not sure for how long exactly as he spent the entire time getting to know the mysterious woman—Regina, as she introduced herself to him.

She told him about her injury and how it came about at the Halloween party she was practically dragged to by her friends, whom she lost track of within minutes. And when she'd had enough after a while and decided to leave, she squeezed in between the sweaty and wasted guests, and that distracted her, causing her to clumsily trip over her own foot right by the front porch's steps and ended up in the situation she was in.

He told her about his move from across the pond. It was a big change and he was still trying to adjust to the time difference, where it was nighttime in the states and daytime back home. But the move was exactly what he needed after his engagement fell through. It was tough being somewhere where he'd created memories and planned a future in for the past decade.

But it wasn't anything to dwell over. It's been months since and he needed to move on, just as his ex-fiancé had.

"This is me," Regina said, stopping him in front of the single-story house, decorated with all sorts of Halloween decorations. The front yard scattered with faux headstones and plastic skeletons, and the front porch was stacked with carved pumpkins and spiderwebs with toy spiders and bats. It was adorable. He didn't think she'd be one to go through all that trouble, given how uninterested she seemed talking about the party she just returned from. But perhaps that was it. She simply wasn't interested in that party, not Halloween in general. "Would…would you mind ringing the doorbell for me?"

"Someone's in there?"

She nodded, moving away from him and stumbling toward the rocking chair, just another one of the many Halloween props set in the middle of the front yard. "My friend's in there. I just need to sit down for a minute."

"Of course," he replied, nodding in understanding. She walked quite the distance for someone with an injured ankle, she earned her few moments of resting.

He returned the smile she gave him and stepped up the porch, then pressed on the doorbell, twice for good measure, and waited.

True to her claims, someone was home.

"Just a second!" A woman's muffled voice called out from inside, followed by the door being unlocked and then opened, revealing a tall blonde, cradling a bucket of candies in her arm. "Oh, you're not a trick-or-treater."

"I'm definitely not," Robin chuckled. "I came here to safely return your friend."

"My…friend?" The woman asked, her brows creased in confusion.

"Yes, Regina—" He turned around to gesture at the brunette on the rocking chair, only, no one was there. "She was…just here…"

And she couldn't have gone anywhere, not with a strained ankle, not in a single minute.

Robin gaped, blinking in disbelief. "I—I swear, she was just here."

"Listen," the blonde bit, waving a finger in his direction, "this isn't funny. Halloween is over, it's past midnight. Way past midnight. I won't tolerate any more of these stupid pranks." And with that, she was gone, slamming the door shut in his face.

But she was there.

He brought her all the way over to this place, she couldn't just disappear—

"Oh…"

It was past midnight, one o'clock to be exact.

He was a man, walking alone down a semi-empty street.

She was a stunning woman with hair black as night, wearing a sweet, musky perfume, and she was so captivating, he didn't notice the distance he walked with her, dozens of blocks away from his home.

But it couldn't be. That was an urban legend, a story to entertain people. And her hands weren't sickle, her eyes weren't cat eyes, and her feet…he never saw them, but she couldn't walk straight.

Could it possibly be?

But she killed the men she encountered, as the folklore went, so why did she let him go?

* * *

 **A/N:** I tried describing Regina and her backstory exactly how the woman was described to us as children. The whole looks and why she did what she did. Some say she was killed by her husband, some claim she just hated men, so she seduced them and ate them. Really, that's it. She was a seductress man eater. Some say she only murdered men, others claim she killed whoever was in her way, which is why we were warned about not going out after midnight, especially by that one particular road in the neighborhood where I grew up at. Some alleged seeing her, or knowing someone who did. My late grandfather was one of them. My mom grew up hearing stories about how he crossed paths with her and that left him with that scar across one of his brows. But, you really can't believe everything you hear.


End file.
